Standing Alone
by charlotteschaos
Summary: Sometimes comfort comes from unexpected places.


It wasn't ideal to have his back to Draco Malfoy whether he called himself redeemed or not, but seeing Privet Drive in this state, reduced to rubble was an extreme situation. Harry had no love of the place and no fond memories to speak of, but try as he might, he couldn't quite bring himself to be _happy_ that his guardians had been slaughtered by Death Eaters.

The Morsmodre was starting to break up and fade and with it, its nightmares were just beginning. Though the bodies of the Dursleys were too buried in the rubble to be recognizable, Harry could imagine the shocked and frightened looks frozen morbid on their faces. All that still stood were remnants of the stairs. The cupboard. His stronghold.

Harry could feel the tendrils of Draco's fledgling Legilimency skills prodding at his consciousness and he grudgingly allowed it as he opened the door, finding his childish illustrations still up. The cot moth-eaten but still made up into a little bed. Even still, Harry couldn't wish ill on these people.

About to throw the door shut, he felt a warm arm over his shoulders and Harry looked warily up. Draco's face was unreadable and shadowed, backlit by streetlamps that glared their fuzzy light unencumbered by walls.

For a moment, Harry balked, remaining guarded as to why Draco was doing this, but then, he'd seen many different sides to him since he'd shown up with Hufflepuff's cup and a note from Snape explaining that he was being sent to help and why he'd had to slay Dumbledore. Harry wasn't sure he could forgive Snape for that, but he'd had no real reason to refuse Draco and he'd all but become Harry's snarky side-kick on these smaller ventures since Hermione and Ron were rather wrapped up in their own bickering. 

"Shut up, Potter," said Draco as he pulled him into a rough embrace.

Harry wondered when Draco's shoulder had gotten wet. It wasn't raining. After a few moments, he realized that his own face was wet, eyes damp and overflowing. The shock ebbed away; giving over to grief as Draco pulled him tighter, rubbing his back tenderly. Harry wasn't even sure what he was crying for-- his childhood, the loss of life, or maybe just how good it felt to be held for once, to have someone notice how much he needed this.

He didn't know how long he sobbed for; only that Draco didn't say a word, which was remarkable even if it had only been a couple of minutes. His chest was solid, bony, full of awkward angles now that Harry saw it with his robes wet and outlining it. He wasn't sure when it happened, but it also seemed like Draco had grown a little taller than him and he almost laughed at the absurdity of his thoughts as he tried to pull himself together.

When he pulled away, Draco wasn't glaring at him as he'd expected him to be. His steely eyes had softened and suddenly he didn't look as sharp or as ferrety, just concerned. Harry remained still as Draco pulled out his prized handkerchief, the one he called "the last of its kind" with DM embroidered in the corner, and dabbed Harry's eyes and cheeks with it. It was strangely touching that he'd use that on him, knowing it was the last thing he really had from his own life. Even Draco's clothes were Weasley cast-offs, a sore point for Malfoy and Weasley alike.

"Thanks," said Harry as he looked over Draco's face.

Draco shrugged and carefully folded his handkerchief and set it back in his pocket. "War is hell, right?" He looked at the cupboard almost angrily and turned back to Harry. "You're a better man than I am not to have wanted them dead."

"I think you're a better man than you think you are, Malfoy." Harry smiled a little at Draco's awkward throat clearing in which he coughed the word "delusional" into.

"For what it's worth... I'm sorry I was such a prat. It wasn't..." Draco looked at the cupboard again and back at Harry and whispered, "I didn't know."

It was Harry's turn to shrug, but he felt a warm glow of hope for Draco and maybe for this world he was fighting for begin to burn inside of him again. Sometimes he felt like it was all hopeless, but if a mind like Draco's could be changed, if he could be redeemed to this point, maybe there was hope for all of them. Harry clapped his hand on Draco's shoulder and said, "Let's head back, yeah? I don't think there's anything here but bad memories."

Draco nodded and walked through the rubble with Harry, out into the street and down the block in convivial silence. When Harry looked at him to nod that it was time to Apparate back, he caught a wink and a smile and Harry thought for the first time, _I think Draco might be a little gay._


End file.
